Love Is Always Write Volume 4

Bob's impending orgasm. "That… is the worst nickname ever."
    "Do you know what a bobbin is, then?"
    "Yes," Bob replied, ending the word with a hiss and a gasp as Jory's hand twisted. "My mother sews. I know what a bobbin is."
    "I'm your thread," Jory said simply. "Consider me spooled." His hand squeezed and Bob tipped his head back, seeing stars. His hands fumbled at Jory's shorts, wanting to level the playing field, although he couldn't quite manage a coherent thought after Jory's admission.
    All of it was bliss, Jory's mouth on his, tongue teasing erotic areas that Bob hadn't known he possessed, Jory's hands— his hands —touching him everywhere, the one that wasn't on his cock was never still, stroking, gripping and caressing Bob's skin, and his voice was a husky thrum, speaking words that made little sense, but followed a pattern of oh and yes that echoed in Bob's thoughts.
    Their hands found a similar cadence, stroking in rhythm separately and then together when Jory got the bright idea to wrap his hand around both at once. Bob followed suit, and it all became a blur of sensation after that, made even better when Bob remembered the lubricant in his bedside drawer and paused to fetch it out and add some glide to the process.
    Even though it was only a hand-job that lasted mere minutes, it was the most intense sex of Bob's life. It was all due to Jory, of course, and his way of making Bob feel like the most important person in the world. Spooled , Jory had said, but Bob knew he was the one firmly wrapped around everything that was Jory.
    Their rocking and frantic stroking reached a fever pitch and Bob fought to keep his eyes fixed on Jory, drinking in the sight of dark hair glistening with sweat above piercing chocolate eyes. His panting gasps were mesmerizing, echoing Bob's, until he wondered which of them would fall first. When it happened it was nearly simultaneous. Jory fastened his perfect teeth into his lower lip and tipped his head back. As the first hot drops fell on Bob's abdomen, he felt his toes curl, and his orgasm exploded through him. Their hands did not stop moving right away, but they gentled and slowed, coaxing free every drop. Even that was amazing.
    "Fuck," Jory said in a whisper and dropped his head to nuzzle at Bob's throat. Bob let go of their spent cocks and wrapped his arms around Jory to drag him down with a yelp. "Hey!"
    Bob laughed wickedly. "Now we need another shower," he said, not quite willing to admit that smearing their come between them was a bit of a turn-on. Was he finally becoming kinky?
    Jory rolled them over in a swift move that left Bob on top. "I see. That was a tricky ploy to keep me naked, was it?"
    "Yes," Bob admitted, "Yes, it was."
    "Good," Jory said and kissed him.
    ****
    Sometime later, sated and sleepy and ridiculously happy, Bob padded across the room to the refrigerator. He poured a glass of cold water and downed it, then refilled it to take back to Jory. On the way, he passed Mariah and lifted the glass in a vague toast to the cactus.
    Tomorrow he would head to the library and pick up a book on the care and maintenance of cacti, his new favorite plant.
    THE END
    Author bio: This is my first time writing original m/m fiction for something other than my own amusement or the enjoyment of my awesome fellow fangirls. I normally live in the world of fanfiction, although I do have an original novel published with my writing partner that is gathering a small following while they wait for me to finish the second book. I am everywhere online. A Google search of my name or my other name (dysonrules) will turn up just about everything I tinker in.
    Website address: Cheryl Dyson
    ****

THE HIGH KING'S GOLDEN TONGUE
    by Megan Derr

    A young man with short, messy, dark brown hair and gray eyes. He's wearing chain mail, and has not been able to shave for a couple of days. He is handsome, almost pretty, but wears a somber expression. He looks as though he is weighed down by his thoughts, or troubled by something he can see off in the distance.

    Dear Author,
    He was sent to be the consort for the high king. Allen is a prince taught in the arts of diplomacy and politics but not fighting. The high king is a warrior and his dead lover was his first general. He does not want anyone who cannot wield a sword as well and only fight with words. That's just not someone that he wants to help him raise his children. So when Allen is presented before him, the high king does not choose